


Guts and Glory

by liamthebastard



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Fluff, M/M, Mild Angst, Rimming, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-19 02:29:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2371121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamthebastard/pseuds/liamthebastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>I wanna see your animal side, let it all out</em>.</p><p>There's something fascinating about Stiles in battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beeabumblebitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeabumblebitch/gifts).



Something in Derek was pleased every time he saw how Stiles could protect himself. Each time the human charged into battle, armed with little more than a baseball bat and pockets full of mountain ash, a mad light in his eyes, Derek’s pulse raced. There was something primal in the way Stiles let himself loose on whatever supernatural creature was attempting to enter pack territory, something visceral in the dirt and blood and -on one memorable occasion- ectoplasm caked on his skin and under his nails. It drew Derek’s eye, made his gaze linger a little longer than he’d normally allow. After all, Stiles was seventeen, and Derek was on the wrong side of eighteen to be looking at him the way he wanted to. And no matter how strong and fierce Stiles was in battle, he was still just a teenager. 

A teenager who was currently covered in the guts of a harpy, looking vaguely bruised but _alive_ and focused in a way he never did outside of the rush of battle and adrenaline. Stiles was whooping happily, clapping Scott happily on the shoulder and grinning at the rest of the pack. 

“Well, I suggest we all get drunk,” Stiles declared. “Lydia’s finally got the recipe for alconite down, so all you puppies can even join in.”

Derek frowned. “Alconite?”

“Alcohol made with aconite so you guys can get drunk. Sort of like the stuff from Lydia’s birthday, but without the hallucinogenic side effects. Lydia thinks we don’t need a catchy name, I think alconite is awesome and will clearly catch on,” Stiles prattled, swinging his bat carelessly at his side. 

The pack laughed, leaving the alley in midtown Beacon Hills. The townspeople had taken to retiring early since the supernatural began taking an interest in the area, making the city look abandoned at this late hour of the night - scratch that, hour of the morning, Derek amended, glancing at his phone display. They all headed back to Lydia’s house, who made a face at them when they arrived but let them in to use the multiple showers. 

Everyone argued over who got showers first, and Scott whined angrily when Stiles slipped into the last free one while he and Isaac were distracted fighting over it, but Derek just stayed back a bit and watched, waiting until everyone was clean and dry before stepping into the basement shower to clean the blood and guts off himself. By the time he got out, Lydia had passed around bottles of drinks, making sure she, Allison, and Stiles only got the non-aconite drinks. Somehow Derek wound up with a red solo cup in his hand, filled nearly to the brim with the vaguely poisonous beverage. He eyed it suspiciously, his instincts rebelling at the thought of willing ingesting the poison. 

“It won’t kill you,” Stiles said calmly, leaning against the stretch of wall next to Derek. “Honest. Lyds and I tested it on Scott a thousand times before letting it near any of the betas. Plus,” here he grinned, “Got the antidote right here.”  
Derek shook his head, sipping at the drink and wincing as the poison slowed his healing enough that his body felt slightly _off_. But Stiles was drinking, and the drink made his cheeks redder and his eyes glitter, and his body still screamed of the focused aggression of earlier in the evening, so Derek matched him drink for drink, letting the alcohol hit him for the first time. 

After the third drink, time started to slide a bit. At some point, Lydia had put on music, something loud with a deep bass, but not so loud that it would hurt the werewolves ears. He and Stiles had moved to one of the deep plush couches that littered the Martin’s finished basement, and somehow, Derek’s left arm had wrapped around Stiles’s shoulder and pulled him against Derek’s chest. 

Stiles was running idle fingers over the freshly healed skin over Derek’s collarbone and neck. His skin always felt warmer after it first healed, but as Stiles’s fingers traced where the harpy’s claws had caught him, he burned. Stiles’s eyes were clear and focused, sparking with the same fervor he got when they were hot on the trail of the monster of the week, and they held Derek’s firmly, giving him no room to run from the way his heart was pounding. Stiles’s fingers ran over the skin absently as he started to speak.

“Close call there, Hale,” Stiles said, his voice low and hoarse.

Derek shrugged. “Nothing that didn’t heal,” he replied. 

Stiles, of course, had to argue. “A few inches higher and you could’ve died.” Derek started to speak, but Stiles cut him off. “I thought you had for a minute. I saw you go down, I didn’t see you heal.”

Guilt and disappointment hit Derek square in the stomach. He’d worried Stiles, that’s what this was about, that’s why Stiles was suddenly so touchy. He just wanted the reassurance that his friend was still okay. “Yeah,” Derek said uncomfortably, “Well I did.” Derek shifted over on the couch, lowering his arm to let Stiles move away. 

But Stiles didn’t move away. Instead, he followed, leaning his weight against Derek’s chest and propping himself up on his forearms to continue staring Derek in the eye. “You remember last month, with the phoenix? You thought I’d gotten caught in the fire, and you looked so panicked until you finally spotted me behind the dumpster,” Stiles murmured, leaning closer. Derek remembered vividly the terror he’d felt at seeing the spot Stiles had occupied go up in smoke like so much else in his life, but couldn’t for the life of him figure out why Stiles was bringing it up now. 

Stiles didn’t elaborate beyond the anecdote. Instead, he leaned closer, bringing his nose along Derek’s jaw and inhaling gently. Derek tilted his head back with a groan, baring his throat to Stiles without a second thought. Stiles grinned, and Derek could feel the slight upturn of lips against the line of his jaw just before Stiles pressed his mouth to Derek’s pulsepoint. 

Derek sucked in a startled breath, but relaxed almost immediately and let Stiles have his way. Stiles moved on, pressing gentle kisses along the line of Derek’s jaw and finally up to meet Derek’s lips.

Once their lips brushed once, twice, in soft kisses, Derek was lost. He groaned when Stiles parted his lips and took one of Derek’s own lips between his teeth, worrying it gently before biting down hard enough that Derek growled and started to kiss back instead of lying passively under Stiles. Without thinking, Derek wrapped his hands around Stiles’s hips, tugging him into his lap and kissing him furiously. Stiles grinned into his mouth, biting playful kisses and refusing to deepen the kiss. Derek chased after Stiles’s mouth, trying to keep up with the teasing tone of Stiles’s lips. Somehow, Stiles’s hand found the hot patch of new skin, and the moment his fingers hit it, his kisses got harsher and more desperate, the smell of his arousal suddenly so thick in the air it was all Derek could smell. 

Derek was helpless, pulling Stiles’s hips down to meet his in a slow grind while their tongues tangled, hot and wet. Stiles pushed and Derek pulled, rolling together on the couch, ignorant of their surroundings.

“Der, please,” Stiles finally gasped between kisses. “Gimme something,” Stiles begged. Derek took the opportunity to kiss down the side of Stiles’s neck and begin work on what would be a truly impressive hickey. Stiles whimpered and writhed, twisting in Derek’s grip and trying to get closer until Derek couldn’t breathe without catching every nuance of Stiles’s scent. Stiles pushed down with his hips hard, grinding their groins together, and Derek bucked up into the contact. Just as Stiles was running his hands down towards Derek’s waist, a loud high-pitched beeping filled the house, making Derek and Stiles spring apart and fall automatically into a battle stance. 

“Sorry!” Isaac called from the corner where Scott had been playing with a lighter. “Just the smoke alarm, but please, continue traumatizing us.” 

Blushing, Stiles shifted off of Derek’s lap. The rest of the pack had gone back to their separate attempts to get drunk, but Stiles was twisting his hands uncomfortably. “It’s late. I should go, dad’ll be waiting up for me.”

Derek just nodded, breath coming a little harder than usual. “Yeah, you should… yeah.”

Stiles stood up, his awkwardness seeping back in. He started to take a step, then stumbled, reminding Derek of how much he’d had to drink. “Stiles, wait. You can’t drive like this. I’ll take you.” Stiles didn’t even put up a token protest, he just smiled softly and let Derek lead him up to the Jeep, passing over the keys calmly along with the antidote for the alconite so Derek could sober up. 

He shuddered as he downed the liquid, but a few moments later he felt his clarity and control slip back into their proper places. Stiles clambered into the passenger seat easily, and Derek drove back to the Sheriff’s house. By the time they pulled up, Stiles was slurring his words, more from exhaustion than alcohol. The adrenaline must have finally worn off, leaving Stiles a sleepy, muttering heap. Derek sighed, put the Jeep in park, and lifted Stiles out of the Jeep. 

The sheriff opened the door a few seconds after Derek knocked, confirming Stiles’s assumption that he’d be waiting up. “He’s just tired,” Derek said before Sheriff Stilinski could jump to any conclusions. “I didn’t want him driving home.” 

Sheriff Stilinski nodded. “Thank you, son. Do you wanna spare my back and take him on up to his room?” he asked. Derek nodded, and carried a now-sleeping Stiles up the stairs and into his bedroom. 

The moment he walked into Stiles’s bedroom, he was overwhelmed by the scent of _Stiles_ and _home_ both so strong and one so unexpected it nearly bowled Derek over. When had the scents of _Stiles_ and _sleep_ and _books_ and even _Sheriff Stilinski_ combined to add up to _home_?

Derek shook it off, and deposited Stiles on the bed. He quickly removed Stiles’s outer flannel shirt, shoes and jeans, and slid the blanket over him. He slid out of the room quietly, and nodded at the sheriff as he left the house and shifted to make the run home a bit faster. 

Now that he was sober, and well out of the reach of Stiles’s scent, Derek realized what a poor decision the majority of the evening post-harpy had been. Kissing Stiles -more than just _kissing_ his mind provided traitorously- had been a terrible choice. The boy was seventeen, and Derek had no business being around him. Hell, he was the _Sheriff’s son_ , and Derek knew the Sheriff would be more likely than most law enforcement officers to actually kill him. 

He wasn’t going to think about it again, Derek decided firmly. But later that night, just before sleep took him, Derek’s last thought was the look on Stiles’s face just before he’d kissed him; blazing and hot, but something tender buried at the core. Something worth chasing.


	2. Chapter 2

Luckily for the still-in-school werewolves, the next day was a Saturday, enabling them all to sleep of their hangovers in peace. Which was great, assuming that nothing supernatural went on in the morning. 

Naturally, this meant that the harpies decided to attack again just after dawn. Derek got a frantic call from Stiles a few minutes after seven, and managed to piece together that Stiles needed back up, immediately. Derek was halfway to the Stilinski house before he disconnected the call so he could focus on running. When he pulled up, the sheriff’s car was gone, and Stiles was in the front yard, baseball bat in hand and swinging at the heads of the three harpies swooping down on him. Derek jumped into the fray, claws out and slashing before anything else processed. Soon, two of the harpies lay dead on the lawn and the last flew away with wounds that would soon prove lethal. Derek’s arm was healing from a talon’s scratch, and Stiles had blood smeared over his forehead, either his own or harpy, Derek wasn’t close enough to tell. 

Derek turned to Stiles to ask about the blood, but didn’t actually manage to get the words out. Stiles looked… fuck, downright predatory. The younger man tossed his bat to the side and stalked towards Derek. Before Derek could say anything, Stiles slid a hand around Derek’s neck and tugged him forward into a searing kiss. When it ended, instead of pulling away like he should have, Derek chased after Stiles sliding his arms around Stiles’s waist and pulling him tight to Derek’s chest. His hands slid up over Stiles’s face, running his fingers gently over his forehead and trying to find the source of the blood. 

Stiles took Derek’s distraction in stride, leaning into the touch and letting Derek examine his forehead. 

“You might need stitches, it’s bleeding a lot” Derek finally decided, looking at the cut that stopped just shy of Stiles’s left eye. 

“Dude you bleed for like five minutes and you’re done, like you know how much I should bleed,” Stiles complained, rolling his eyes. 

Derek grumbled. “Still, we need to at least clean it,” he said. Stiles sighed, but led Derek inside with minimal grumbling and pulled out the first aid kit he kept in the bathroom for just such injuries. 

“Quit hovering, I’m fine,” Stiles insisted, shoving Derek out of the way. Derek watched as Stiles cleaned up the cut and slapped a Batman bandaid over it. “See? Good as new.” Stiles turned proudly to show off his bandaged forehead. The light from the bathroom window outlined Stiles clearly, catching the gleam in Stiles’s eyes as he walked towards Derek.

This time, Derek cut him off with a hand to Stiles’s chest. “Stiles,” he said lowly. “What are we doing?”

Stiles groaned. “Well I was going to kiss you, and hopefully you were going to kiss me, and potentially at some point in the near future we’d celebrate our victory in a distinctly horizontal position, preferably without clothes but I’ll be honest I’m not going to be to firm on that,” Stiles said, twisting away from Derek’s hand and darting closer.

“You are _seventeen_ ,” Derek groaned, letting his arm settle around Stiles’s waist against his better judgement. “And your father is the sheriff.” 

“Shocking, I didn’t know that,” Stiles snarked. “Look how much I care.” His hands slid up and tangled in Derek’s hair, pulling gently and making Derek groan. “So much caring going on here right now, you have no idea.” 

“This is such a bad idea,” Derek tried again. Stiles had moved to kissing up and behind Derek’s ear, taking his earlobe between his teeth and tugging gently.

“Speak for yourself, my ideas are all amazing,” Stiles grumbled, pulling back to kiss Derek fully. 

Derek didn’t know why he bothered trying to resist Stiles, nobody ever held out for long against one of his plans. So he finally just gave up, and leaned in to return Stiles’s kiss. Not two seconds later, Stiles was smirking his victory into Derek’s lips while Derek growled. And not two seconds after _that_ , Derek’s phone went off. 

_Arooo! Werewolves of London!_

Derek groaned. “Really, Stiles? Werewolves of London?” 

Stiles pulled back, laughing. “It’s Scott’s new ringtone, I changed it last week. Like it?” Stiles was already reaching into Derek’s pocket to pull out the ringing phone - and, really Stiles, boundaries. “What’s up Scotty?” Stiles chirped, looking far too pleased with himself.

“ _Why are you answering Derek’s phone?_ ” Scott asked on the other end of the line. “ _You know what, never mind. Just get him over to the Hale house, now. Bring your bat._ ” And Scott hung up. 

Stiles just stared at the phone for a moment. “He has gotten _much_ more dramatic since we met you,” he finally said.

“Get your keys,” Derek grunted, trying not to focus too much on Stiles’s obscenely puffy lips. Stiles rolled his eyes, but grabbed his bat and keys from by the front door and headed out to the Jeep. 

“What would you idiot werewolves do without me,” Stiles laughed, starting up the Jeep as Derek hopped up in the passenger seat. “Here, call Scott again, ask for more details. Go all growly on him if you have to, it’s hot anyways.”

“You are the weirdest kid,” Derek muttered, but took the phone and obligingly dialled Scott’s number while Stiles drove. 

“ _Dude if this is Stiles I do_ not _have time for this!_ ” Scott grumbled.

“It’s me.” And no, Derek did not _growl_. He rumbled. Maybe. “What’s going on over there?”

“ _You must’ve done something, because these harpies are all over the place, and they will not leave the territory._ ”

Derek huffed. “Of course. We’re almost there, just try and hold them off. Anyone else there?”

“ _Me and Isaac- SHIT_ ,” Scott shouted, clearly having taken a hit. Derek could hear Isaac shouting in the background for Derek to hurry his ass up. He ended the call.

“Speed,” Derek said, “they need us now.”

Stiles took one look at Derek’s face, and pressed down on the accelerator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so bad about this chapter but I feel stuck so I'm posting it anyway. Two more chapters, one being plot, the other being porn.


	3. Chapter 3

When they rolled up to the house, the boys were getting their asses kicked. Derek frowned. “Stay in the car, Stiles,” Derek instructed, knowing full well that Stiles was going to throw the Jeep into park and charge in after him, as always. 

Sure enough, the moment Derek’s feet hit the ground, Stiles was out too, bat in hand, and a look of righteous fury on his face. Derek saw Stiles run towards where Scott was pinned by a harpy, who seemed to be screeching in his face and slashing her talons into his shoulders. Derek shifted, letting his claws and fangs out, and aimed for where Isaac was backed against one of the remaining walls of the house, the harpy swooping down from above at regular intervals to claw at him. 

Derek waited for a moment, timing the flight pattern of Isaac’s harpy so he was able to jump in just as she swooped low to aim for Isaac’s stomach. He leapt for her throat, claws digging deep and tugging hard until the harpy spluttered a final gasp and fell the last few feet to the ground, dead. 

The moment the harpy was dead, Derek sprinted forward to Isaac and ran his hands over the boy, checking for serious wounds. He found a few gouges, but they were healing quickly, so he pressed a hand to Isaac’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze before he whirled and rushed to Stiles’s side. Stiles was raising hell, his bat swinging brutally while his other hand fumbled through his pocket, probably searching for whatever bag of herbs he’d decided would help. 

He must’ve been distracted, searching as he was, because before Derek could get to him, the harpy whirled from where it was attacking Scott, and slashed straight across Stiles’s chest. Stiles dropped like a stone, and Derek saw red. There was nothing but the harpy, and the fact that Derek was going to kill her. 

Five minutes or five hours later, the harpy was dead on the ground missing most of her organs, and Scott and Isaac were gathered around Stiles, who was _still on the ground_. Derek rushed over, still in his shift, and found Stiles blinking blearily up at them. 

“Dude, blood?” Scott said, gesturing to his face. Derek just ignored him, there were more pressing things than the state of his face.

“Stiles, are you alright? Can you hear me?” Derek asked, pulling back his shift so he could frantically trace his hands over the cuts to feel their depth. 

Stiles didn’t answer, but he blinked in a way Derek was choosing to think of as affirmative. “Isaac, take his keys,” Derek said, snatching them from the ground next to Stiles. “Bring the Jeep over here, we’re taking him to the hospital.”

Isaac brought the Jeep as close as possible, and Derek scooped Stiles up as gently as possible and loaded him into the passenger seat of the Jeep, forgoing the seat belt due to the _large bleeding gashes_ across his stomach, which if Derek thought about for too long he was going to lose the small amount of control he had. The stench of Stiles’s blood was thick in the car, and Derek was trapped in the backseat unable to do anything but rely on Isaac’s frankly questionable driving skills to make Stiles better. 

“Can’t this piece of crap go any faster?” Derek growled, keeping a hand on Stiles shoulder so he could leach away the pain and make sure the boy kept breathing.

Stiles made some grumbling noise -probably protesting the insult of his Jeep- and Derek’s heart leapt into his throat. God, he was gone on this kid. It hurt Derek, just knowing that Stiles was bleeding and that there was nothing Derek could do to help it except take as much of the pain as he could handle and hope they reached the hospital in time, because the alternative was too painful to consider.

They pulled up to the hospital. “Scott, go tell your mom we’re coming, Isaac park the car once we’re out. I’ll take him in,” Derek said firmly.

“No, you’re gonna take the car, park it, and clean the blood from your face and hand. Isaac, find my mom. I’ll carry Stiles,” Scott instructed. Derek turned to face him, eyes flashing blue. A moment later, Scott’s eyes flashed red, and Derek backed down angrily. 

He watched nervously while Scott lifted Stiles carefully and carried him into the ER, veins on his forearm turning black as he kept taking Stiles’s pain. Derek hated to let Stiles out of his sight when he was hurt like that, but if he had to let someone else take care of Stiles, it’d have to be Scott. At least Derek could trust him with Stiles’s safety. 

Isaac passed him the keys and Derek switched to the driver’s seat and crammed the Jeep into the first available spot he found. Thankfully Stiles kept several packs of baby wipes in the Jeep for blood-related emergencies, which meant it only took Derek a few seconds to get the blood off of hands and face. He kidnapped one of Stiles’s spare shirts -some oversized, vaguely familiar looking shirt that had probably been kidnapped by Stiles during a pack meeting at Derek’s apartment- and swapped it with his own so the bloodstains wouldn’t draw attention. 

He rushed in through the ER entrance and saw Isaac lounging at the nurses’ station, talking with Melissa in hushed tones. Derek pushed past the check in nurse and went straight for them. “Is he okay? What’s going on?” Derek demanded.

Melissa turned from Isaac and gave Derek a painfully maternal look. “He’s lost a lot of blood, but we don’t know if he’ll need a transfusion yet or not. We’re going to stitch him up and see if his vitals improve. If not, we’ll transfuse him. The sheriff should be here soon, Isaac,” Melissa said, turning to the beta, “Why don’t you go meet him?” 

Isaac nodded and headed out to the waiting room. 

“Can- can I see him?” Derek asked quietly. 

She frowned. “Derek… Scott’s with him right now, and we really should only let in one visitor at a time while he’s getting stitches put in…” she said. 

“Please, Melissa,” Derek said. “I need to see him.” 

Melissa sighed. “Fine, go, just don’t let anyone catch you,” she warned. Derek flashed a grateful look her way, and slipped down the hall towards the scent of Stiles. Just outside the door, Derek froze. He could hear three heartbeats in the room on the other side of the privacy curtain. One was the doctor’s, even and calm. Scott’s heart was worried, panicked, but Stiles’s… Stiles’s heart rate was slow, and plodding, and not at all the hummingbird-fast, slightly manic rate Derek was used to. 

And that was Derek’s fault. Stiles was in there, getting sewn back together because of Derek’s inability to protect him. 

“For God’s sake, Derek, just come in,” Scott whispered under his breath, quiet enough that the doctor wouldn’t hear. Derek took a deep breath, and pushed the privacy curtain aside so he could step in. Scott stood up from his seat at the side of the bed and gestured for Derek to take it. “I’ll be at the nurses’ station.”

Derek sat down, nodding to the doctor as she finished the last line of stitches on Stiles’s chest and left. Finally, he was forced to look at Stiles. 

The teenager was leaning against the mound of pillows Melissa doubtlessly brought in for him, skin a pale greyish white underneath the scattering of moles. His eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow. Thankfully, someone had cleaned the blood away from his chest, leaving just four lines of neat black stitches over the red gashes. Derek breathed deep, trying to get past the stench of hospital and sickness to reach Stiles, hoping it would drown out the scent of the blood that was all Derek could sense. 

Stiles shifted restlessly, groaning a little at the pain. Without a thought, Derek reached forward and took Stiles’s hand, taking his pain with a hiss. 

“Thanks. ‘S good,” Stiles slurred, squeezing Derek’s hand a little.

Derek just shook his head. “For once in your life, Stiles, shut up,” he said. He held back a smile when Stiles just smirked at him. 

“Y’know that won’t happen,” Stiles replied. Derek nodded in resignation. He leaned over, putting his head on the edge of Stiles’s bed.  
“Go to sleep, Stiles,” Derek said. Stiles muttered a bit but settled down and soon his breathing was even in a healthy way. After a few minutes of Stiles sleeping calmly, Derek heard the sheriff come in and Isaac filling him in on Stiles’s situation. 

The sheriff came in quietly, still in uniform with his hat in hand. “Is he sleeping?” Sheriff Stilinski asked.

“Hopefully,” Derek said. “He could also be pretending to sleep, so he can listen in on our conversations. Could go either way with him.” He shrugged.

Sheriff Stilinski huffed a laugh. “Yeah, it could,” he said. “No, son, don’t stand up. Stay, keep doing the pain thing.” Derek nodded, and kept his seat. They stayed quiet for a time, watching Stiles sleep. 

Finally the sheriff spoke again. “Is this what it’s going to be like, Derek? I feel like any time I get a call it’s going to be Stiles hurt, and I don’t know if I can keep doing that,” he said. “He’s not like you, you know. He won’t keep healing from this.”

“I know,” Derek said. “I- I keep trying to tell him, to keep him safe, but he just doesn’t listen. And I don’t have the heart to tell him what I should to make him stay away.”

“Son, I don’t want him to stop running with the pack. Stiles has never felt _important_ before, he’s never been so happy. I just want him safe,” Sheriff Stilinski said. Derek just nodded helplessly. A doctor came in at some point, asking for the sheriff to come fill out some paperwork, leaving Derek and Stiles alone again. 

Stiles’s heart rate had spiked up into consciousness a few minutes before the sheriff left, but Derek had let him keep pretending to be asleep to save whatever stress Stiles was trying to avoid. 

“Hey, hey don’t- don’t do the thing,” Stiles said.

“What thing?” Derek asked. Stiles gestured for Derek to pass him the water. 

He sipped at the water for a minute before talking. “That thing you do,” he said. “Where you blame yourself for my mortality. Stop it.”

The werewolf shrugged. “You wouldn’t be hurt if it weren’t for me,” Derek explained.

“You are actually stupid,” Stiles declared, like he was having his worst fears confirmed. “I wouldn’t be hurt if it weren’t for your crazy uncle. But unless you feel like tracking him down and killing him -again- I suggest you quit blaming yourself.”

“You are way too lucid, go back to sleep,” Derek replied. Stiles just grinned. “You could’ve died, Stiles, quit looking so happy.”

“I will not. And I did _not_ almost die, I’m fine,” Stiles insisted. “A little beat up, but I’m okay.” 

“But you shouldn’t even _be_ beat up!” Derek hissed, frustrated but keeping his voice down. “You shouldn’t have to deal with any of this.”

Stiles groaned, scent souring with annoyance. “Dude, everybody gets hurt. Even perfectly normal, perfectly non-werewolf people like _Danny_ get hurt. You cannot blame yourself every time I get injured, because otherwise you’re going to drown in more guilt than usual, and nobody wants that.” Derek shifted uncomfortably in his chair until Stiles tugged on his hand and pulled him to the edge of the bed. “Oh my god would you just touch me, I can feel you freaking out from here.” 

Derek smiled a little, giving in to the subtle itch under his skin that demanded he check Stiles over for injuries -other than the obvious ones- and ensure that Stiles was, in fact, okay. He traced gently around the stitches and over Stiles’s unmarked arms and chest, and eventually on to his neck and face. Derek gently traced over Stiles’s cheekbones and jawline, over the shadows under Stiles’s eyes, shadows that Derek and the pack have caused. 

Stiles sat up a bit and leaned in to kiss Derek softly. 

“I’m going to get you _killed_ ,” Derek whispered against Stiles lips, and it sounded like the words had been punched out of him. 

“No, you really aren’t,” Stiles replied in kind, kissing over Derek’s stubble to whisper in his ear. “You might save my life though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whaaaat actual plot and potential angst? not really there's just porn up next guys.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And lo! The oft-foretold smut appears, at 330 am my time.  
> Im super hungry and super tired so forgive any nonsense in this.

Derek point blank refused to go any further than kissing until Stiles was fully healed. It might have been the longest ten days of Derek’s life, but he knew it was the right thing to do. Well, as right as wanting to slide home with a seventeen year old was going to get. Two weeks later, when they finally removed Stiles’s stitches, Stiles was ecstatic. He chattered happily the entire way to the doctor’s -Derek driving the Jeep so Stiles could drive home- and hardly looked green at all when the doctor pulled the stitches out. That might’ve been partially due to Derek squeezing his hand and draining any pain that cropped up, but Derek wasn’t going to admit to it, no matter how many pointed looks Stiles threw his way. 

“Oh man I get to drive! I can drive again! Derek, look I can drive!” Stiles crowed. He sat in the driver’s seat, bouncing happily while Derek watched in amusement. Stiles got them back over to the Sheriff’s place pretty quickly, and only swore a half dozen times when he pulled on the new skin wrong. When they pulled up, Stiles grinned even wider. “So babe,” he started. 

“I thought we vetoed babe,” Derek interjected.

“No, _you_ vetoed babe. And lover boy. And sugar. And sweetie. And basically every other fun nickname I’ve come up with. I’m sticking with babe,” Stiles said. Derek groaned. “But that’s not the point, _babe_. The point is, My stitches are out.”

“Are you going somewhere with this, Stiles?”

Stiles shushed him. “My stitches are out, my dad is working overnight, and I have an incredibly hot boyfriend. Where do you think I’m going with this?”

“Home to rest?” Derek suggested. 

“Not even close, babe. Well, kinda close. Actually, two out of three words there were correct, so not bad. Not a passing grade, but not bad. Scott’s certainly done worse.” Stiles flashed a grinned as they pulled into Stiles’s driveway. 

Derek smiled a little in return, and stepped out of the Jeep. He moved around the Jeep to help Stiles, but Stiles was already out of the vehicle and running up to the front door. 

“C’mon sugarpie, get up here before I strip you in front of the neighbors!” Stiles called from the front door, shoes already off. Derek glanced to the neighbor’s house, and saw, sure enough, Mrs. Nesbitt standing in her yard watering her begonias. Derek waved awkwardly, and hustled inside to avoid her judgemental stare.

“It’s like you’re _trying_ to get me shot by your dad,” Derek complained, letting Stiles strip him of his jacket while he stepped out of his shoes, but he caught his hands before they started to work on Derek’s shirt. “Your seduction technique needs some work.”

Stiles chuckled. “Honeybunch, you and I both know my seduction is best left in a locked box far, far away from the object of my affections,” Stiles said, working one hand free of Derek’s loose grip to reach out and cup Derek’s face. “Besides, shouldn’t you be seducing me, Mr. Big Gruff Werewolf?”

Derek rolled his eyes, but let go of Stiles’s hands to grab him by the hips and pull him closer. “You’re ridiculous,” Derek said, dragging Stiles in for a kiss. Stiles groaned when their lips met, and Derek couldn’t help nipping gently at his bottom lip. Derek steered them further inside, aiming for the living room couch, but Stiles took the distraction of Derek making sure they didn’t trip as a chance to push Derek into a wall. 

“And _you_ are acting like I’m made of glass,” Stiles said, leaning in to bite at Derek’s neck, deliberately provoking him. He pulled back, smirking, and _fuck_ his eyes had that same predatory gleam that had sucked Derek in to begin with. “C’mon, kiss me like you mean it,” Stiles challenged, scent spiking dangerously. 

“I’m so going to hell for this,” Derek growled, but he flipped them, pressing Stiles against the wall and pressing bruising kisses against Stiles’s lips.

Stiles arched into his touch, moaning when Derek bit at his lip. “If you’re going, I wanna go too,” Stiles gasped, and Derek moved on to bite at his neck. “Oh god keep doing that.” But Derek stopped, grinning. He stepped back completely, leaving Stiles leaning against the living room wall for support with his chest heaving and a good-looking bruise blooming underneath his jaw. Stiles _whined_ when Derek was gone, and fuck if that didn’t go straight to Derek’s cock. But he wanted to savor this, to drink in Stiles’s scent hot and heavy in the air, and commit to memory the way Stiles’s chest was heaving while he tried to even out his breathing. 

“Are you sure?” Derek asked, checking in that Stiles was okay.

“I’m so sure. Now get back over here before I combust,” Stiles said, reaching out and pulling Derek in by his belt loops. Derek slotted their bodies together, their lips catching, and Derek couldn’t breathe he wanted Stiles so badly. 

Their kisses grew more frantic the longer they stayed pushed against the wall. Soon it was just the pair of them panting into each other’s mouths, and Derek couldn’t really be blamed when Stiles’s hips bucked into his and he ground back, both of them moaning at the sudden friction. Derek moved in closer, trying to get them closer together but their clothes kept catching and dragging oddly, making it just the wrong side of uncomfortable. 

Stiles finally broke. “My god, Der, can we - _Jesus_ \- can we move this upstairs?” he begged. Derek didn’t bother answering, he just started walking, pulling Stiles along with him. He tried to move fast, but every time he glanced at Stiles, he _had_ to stop to kiss the look of blatant hunger on his face.

When they finally reached Stiles’s bedroom, Derek was half-certain this was going to be embarrassingly fast. He was so hard it was starting to ache, and he could tell from smell and sight - and okay, from a over-the-pants grope on the stairs - that Stiles was in the same boat. The second the bedroom door was closed behind them, Stiles seemed to come into his own. He pushed Derek onto his mattress and climbed over his lap, straddling him and pushing their denim-clad cocks together while he slid Derek’s shirt off. 

Stiles had Derek’s pants half off when Derek realized that their clothing ratio was _way_ off. He fumbled for Stiles’s shirt, peeling him out of the flannel and the tee shirt. For a moment, he paused, running his fingertips over the fresh scars on Stiles’s torso, then Stiles leaned down and captured his mouth while he pushed Derek’s pants completely off, and Derek stopped worrying about whether or not he was going to hurt Stiles, and instead flipped them, finally spreading Stiles out on the sheets like he’d been wanting to for longer than he was proud of. 

“Dude, why the _hell_ are my pants still on?” Stiles complained. Derek sucked hard at Stiles’s collarbone before kissing down his chest to the scars - scars Stiles had gotten helping him, protecting the pack - and licking down each one until he reached the waistband of Stiles’s jeans, so close to where Stiles’s scent was strongest. He played with the buttons, undoing it deftly and tugging the zipper down. With one yank, he got Stiles’s jeans and boxers down to his knees, where Stiles finished the job by kicking them off the foot of the bed. 

Stiles’s cock was gorgeous; long and lean, just like Stiles, and currently flushed and rock hard, weeping precome at the tip. Derek didn’t bother warning Stiles, instead he just leaned forward and took Stiles into his mouth, licking gently around the head before kissing down the shaft while Stiles cursed above him. He tasted musky, like desire and so purely Stiles it made Derek’s mouth water. But there’s something he’s wanted to do to Stiles, and hopefully Stiles would let him. He moved further down Stiles’s cock, sucking one testicle and then the other into his mouth. Stiles moaned above him, his back arching a little. Derek moved back up to tip of Stiles’s cock and took it into his throat, stifling a laugh when Stiles shouted something incoherent and riding it out when his hips thrust up into Derek’s mouth. Derek pulled back, letting Stiles’s cock slip from between his lips. 

“Roll over,” Derek growled, voice rough. Stiles’s eyes went wide, but he obeyed instantly, turning over and shifting his legs further apart until Derek could easily expose his hole to the open air. Stiles moaned and buried his face in the pillow before Derek even did anything. Once Stiles had settled, Derek leaned forward and ran the flat of his tongue over Stiles’s hole. It spasmed once, clenched, then relaxed while Stiles groaned. Derek grinned, and really dove in, pointing his tongue to dart briefly inside Stiles before returning to slow licks that had Stiles melting into the mattress. 

The moment Derek started seriously opening Stiles’s up, Stiles lost what little filter he’d possessed. 

“Ohmygod, _Derek_ , my god, just fuck me, please, _god_ , c’mon, Der- Derek!” Stiles babbled while Derek’s tongue pushed in and out of him hard and fast. Derek was quickly losing patience, his cock was throbbing at this point, and it was getting difficult to ignore. 

“Lube?” he finally asked, taking a breath. Stiles nodded, and pulled a small bottle from under his pillow. Derek tried not to look amused. 

“Dude, shut up, you’ve never made out with you, it’s extremely frustrating,” Stiles said, passing the bottle down to Derek, who squirted some out onto his right hand and spreading it over four of his fingers. “Hang on,” Stiles gasped just as Derek circled a lubed finger around his hole. Derek froze, ready to pull away if Stiles gave the word. But instead, Stiles just rolled over. “I wanted to do this part face to face,” he explained. 

Derek smiled softly, and slid his finger back up to Stiles’s hole. He hesitated, then hitched one of Stiles’s leg over his left shoulder to make it easier to open Stiles up. One finger was fairly easy, since Derek’s tongue had already loosened him up. Two fingers made Stiles gasp. Three fingers had Stiles bucking up off the bed and crying out for Derek more frantically than before. The fourth was probably overkill, but it was worth it to see how Stiles bypassed language entirely and devolved to tiny whining sounds and gasps. 

When Derek pulled his fingers out, he paused. “Condom?” he offered. 

Stiles shook his head. “Trust you,” he slurred, sounding fucked out even though Derek could see his cock still erect and bright red between them. Derek inhaled sharply, but nodded, holding his cock firmly at the base to keep from coming the second he felt Stiles around him. He slid in slowly, pausing a few times to give Stiles a chance to breathe. Soon he was balls-deep in Stiles’s body, and all the air left his lungs in a _whoosh_. He had to take a minute to just breathe or he was going to come way too fast. 

“Derek, dear god, _fuck me_ ,” Stiles moaned, pushing back against Derek. The werewolf nodded, leaning down to press their lips together in a searing kiss as he pulled out and thrust back in with one smooth roll of his hips. “More,” Stiles panted between kisses.

Derek pushed harder, twisting his hips to make Stiles keen, then doing it again, hitting a post that made Stiles almost _scream_. They rolled together, pushing and pulling while Stiles begged so beautifully underneath him for more. Stiles was so warm, and wet, and tight, it was _incredible_. It was also bringing him extremely close to the edge. The last thing Derek wanted was to get off before feeling Stiles come around him, so he reached down and took hold of Stiles’s cock. He stroked it quickly, matching the rhythm of his hips until Stiles was bending up off the bed and crying out Derek’s name while he came, streams of come stripping both their chests. Stiles’s orgasm sent ripples through his body, squeezing Derek’s cock until couldn’t take it anymore and he thrust in _hard_ , coming until it felt like he had nothing left. He had just enough presence of mind to slip out and enjoy the way his and Stiles’s scents mixed together with sex and affection in the air of Stiles’s bedroom. Without thinking much, Derek rolled onto his back and tugged Stiles against his chest, rumbling happily when Stiles kissed his neck. 

“‘M gonna sleep now,” Stiles mumbled. “Don’t leave.”

Derek kissed him gently on the forehead. “Don’t worry,” he said, looking down at Stiles fondly, “I’m not going anywhere.”


End file.
